


Teacher, Teacher

by TheTyphonSerpent



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Broken Bones, Flirting, Healing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 01:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16844380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTyphonSerpent/pseuds/TheTyphonSerpent
Summary: Fenris breaks his wrist and caves into the pain, going to Anders for some physical therapy.





	Teacher, Teacher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emotionalmorphine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine/gifts).



> This was originally posted to tumblr as a gift. Also I was listening to Teacher, Teacher by Rockpile the entire time I wrote it so I wound up giving the fic the same name.

Fenris had killed countless men. Even before meeting Hawke and her “merry band of misfits”, he had long lost count of the number of battles he’d fought. Had he ever bothered keeping track? There had been many attempts on Danarius’ life. Many times when he swiveled around to wrench the heart from a man holding a poison dagger. How many times had the blade managed to graze his own skin? How many times did he wind up sweaty and aching and unable to sleep from taking a small amount of the poison meant for the magister?

And yet through all that, through thugs and mercenaries, through qunari and dragons, what did him in was falling out of his chair.

It was one of their usual nights at the Hanged Man. A pile of coins on the table in front of him, gold glinting off the light from the fireplace. The sharp smell of beer and sweat.

The dock workers that were filing in after a long night. Merril across from him, with Hawke all but falling over as she threw her arm around the blood mage’s shoulder and commented on the hand Merril held.

Isabella volunteered to fetch the next round. Hawke was gathering up everyone’s cards. Varric was prattling on about something Fenris was only half listening to. He leaned in his chair, arms draped over the back, staring at the ceiling. Suddenly, he was free-falling, grasping for control as his right hand went to catch himself. He felt a jolt of pain shoot up the outside of his wrist as the whole of his weight, armor and chair included, crashed onto his own wrist as he fell.

Hawke was the first to dash around the table, reaching him just as he managed to extract the chair from underneath him and grasp the injured arm. “Are you alright? What happened?” She asked.

“Fell. I’m fine.” He said, wincing.

“You rotten liar, move your wrist for me.” She crossed her arms, raising one eyebrow.

He glanced up at her, then returned to his wrist. Gritting his teeth, he moved his hand back and forth.

“Mm-hmm.” Hawke hummed, “Now do this for me.” She moved her wrist in a circle.

Scoffing, Fenris pulled himself to his feet with one hand on the table, “I am not some performing pet, I told you I am fine.”

He was cradling the injured wrist to his stomach when Merril chimed in, “Oh, dear, it looks awfully swollen. Are you sure you don’t want to drink a potion?”

“Yes, I’m-” He began to snap before catching himself, and sighing, “I’m fine.”  
He was not fine.

He spent the remainder of the night lifting his mug and holding up his cards with only his left hand. He recalled he and Hawke walking back to Hightown together, but with how drunk he was by then, the memory was fuzzy. At some point he managed to strip himself of his armor and collapse in bed, and when he awoke, he discovered he could no longer wear his right gauntlet.

Anders had dark circles under his eyes and an ungroomed mass of stubble on his face, bearing a striking resemblance to a raccoon when he opened the clinic door. Fenris’ lip curled at the sight. Anders never exactly kept up to date on fashion trends, but he never necessarily looked like an unwashed apostate hobo.

“Where were you last night?” Fenris asked.

Anders looked taken aback, “Is that all you came here to ask me?”

“You look as though you were trampled by a horse.”

Anders rubbed one eye with his palm, yawning, “There was an alienage girl who was having some problems with her labor. I delivered her babe early this morning. They’re both fine, in case you’re wondering. Now why are you really here?”

He was still cradling his wrist to his stomach, allowing it to dangle caused it to ache. When he glanced down at his wrist, Anders did the same, and responded with a sigh, “Come inside.”

The mage dragged a chair to the opposite side of his desk, allowing Fenris to sit across from him so that the elf could set his hand on the desk. Anders took the wrist in his hand and began the examination, testing the give of his joints, an occasional prod or a bend coupled with, “Does it hurt when I do this?” Once that was repeated enough times, Anders sighed and began the healing magic. 

Fenris watched as his bones and ligaments glowed blue along with the tips of Anders’ fingers.

“You should have come here sooner.” Anders spoke through a yawn, “Fresh wounds are easiest to heal. This is so swollen, that … well I can mend the bones and ligaments, but we’ll have to do some manual therapy to get it back to normal.”

“What do you mean ‘manual therapy’?”

Setting the mended wrist down, Anders rose and moved to his shelf. “Here, I’ll teach you.” He reached for a jar and unscrewed the lid, revealing a mint-scented cream inside. After scooping up some onto his fingers, he came up behind Fenris and reached around to take the hand in both of his. He began massaging the muscles on the wrist, gentle swoops working out knots and aches. Then, he rose the hand and began to move the joints, to and fro, then in circular motions, working mobility back into them. “Just do that daily,” Anders explained, “And when you build the strength back up, you can move into more rigorous ones, I’ll teach you those when the time comes.”

“And how will you know what that time is?”

Anders yawned again, resting his hands atop Fenris’, “Well, I don’t think you can do the massage portion yourself, so if you want to get better you’ll have to come back here in a week. I’ll check your flexibility while I’m at it.”

“You cannot teach me that as well?”

The mage had his head resting on Fenris shoulders. He muttered, “I could, but unless you grow a third arm, you’re not going to be able to do them on yourself.”

Anders’ bangs were falling over his eyes, and Fenris was mulling over the image of having a third arm in his chest when he heard the quiet kitten snores that Anders was making. “Mage. Wake up.” He said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Hm?” Anders hummed, blinking his eyes awake.

“You would do well to learn your limits.”

“You would do well to learn not to break your wrist.” Anders’ voice was muffled, having buried it in Fenris’ shoulder.

Fenris rose, forcing the mage to rise with him. When he turned, Anders stumbled, and Fenris was forced to grab his shoulders to keep him from falling.  
He guided the mage to the small room in the back, where a little cot was set up. Anders collapsed as soon as he saw it. “Remove your shoes.” Fenris said flatly.

Anders rolled his eyes, but pulled himself into a sitting position, “Yes, Teacher.” He sneered as he began unlacing his boots.

“Careful, or I’ll give you an oral exam next time we meet.”

Fenris stepped out of the room, and Anders was just pulling off his second boot when he jolted in sudden realization. “Are you coming on to me?” He asked, but Fenris was already out of the room.

He stood, running to the door to see Fenris stepping out of the clinic, “Fenris, you didn’t answer my question. Was that you flirting?”

But the elf was already gone, leaving Anders to wait a week for his answer.


End file.
